Cataclysm
by InsaniumArtisan
Summary: And all at once, she would know life. But would life know her? Like always, once a new game hits the Arcade, the buzz begins. But this time around, it seems like no one inside wants anything to do with the outside world. When the key of the misdirection is located, it may take more than expected to right the wrongs discovered in this land of dissolute. (("VIRAL"/Rewritten))
1. Magnum Opus

**PROLOGUE: Magnum Opus**

* * *

_"We all want to break our orbits, float like a satellite gone wild in space, run the risk of disintegration. We all want to take our lives in our own hands and hurl them out among the stars."_

_― David Bottoms_

* * *

This was the creation of a new world.

Like the so many that filtered the systems, a spark was created. The plug hit the socket, and something burst, like the cosmos creating a supernova with such intensity, that it broadcast itself to the entirety of the universe.

This was the way games were born into the Arcade.

It could have been considered dramatic, how it was described, but nonetheless, true. To each character within, even those missing the most sacred of their intellectual stimuli, this was life. They were born, their world formed, their lives roped to one another.

Lives interchanged.

Once characters from different games were to know each other, in any possible way, the two universes were linked. Code and crimson thread held the same definition, and friendship between two entities was as simple as two twin worlds coming to a collision.

And it would happen again.

A new fragment settled within the puzzle, and with it, a new game was placed into the maze. A corner all it's own, nearly separated from the mass, but close enough to keep sight of. Here it would sit, a husk, til the shard joined its brethren. Til the plug hit the wall.

Til life for these newcomers would be birthed.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, she knew existence.

She knew happiness, sadness, anger. But above all, she knew loneliness. She knew the feeling of being loved, and the feeling of being hated.

She knew the feeling of living.

Words, sentences, fragments, exclamations. Feeling, exchanging, intertwining, connecting. These things she all knew, but could not grasp how.

Who? Why? And what?

When would she know? Would it come with the blue explosion, or the red abyss?

Her eyes closed once again.

Time would tell her story. However wicked, however tragic, she would come to understand her being, and her reason.

* * *

The Plugger showed no sign of understanding what his actions caused. How insignificant it seemed, to connect the two terminals, only to indulge in such a significant thing within. Graphical map spread across an invisible plane, coated in darkness.

Lights began to combust from impossible regions. Unseen, unknown, but foretelling. All at once, it began.

World, inhabitants, life and death. Evil, good, understanding, and misinterpreting. Families were placed in homes, kings in castles, knights in battle. Creatures pranced into existence, spawned from a never ending road in oblivion.

Grass, ice, fire, wind. The elements were shaped and placed. Homes, all shapes. Architecture, all sizes.

Most prominent. The tower.

Within, she opened her eyes.

It was time.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I promised a rewrite of "VIRAL". So here's the Prologue. **

**Kind of in depth. **

**Word vomit. Blech.**

**Understand it how you will. **

**Peace,**

**- InsaniumArtisan**


	2. Hold 'Em, Fold 'Em

**CHAPTER ONE: Hold 'Em, Fold 'Em**

* * *

It was a wonderful day.

That was the only way Litwak's compatriots, customers, and characters could describe the scene laid out before them. A huge grin plastered on his face, the now fifty-seven year-old Arcade owner vigorously tucked into his birthday cake, creating as much of a mess as many of the youngsters surrounding him were doing.

A table, adorned with a plethora of gifts, some opened, some not, crowded the far end of the streamer and balloon-ridden room. All around, both children and adults conversed, played (while this was mostly the children), or took their time to play one of the many brightly lit consoles. The many energetic din of every game clashed together, creating a nostalgia all-too sweet for the many persons inside the establishment.

"Happy birthday, Mister Litwak!" One of the children chirped, pink icing coating the bottom half of her face like the smile of a clown.

In response the elder smiled, handing her mother a napkin as he chuckled, "Thanks, sweetie. Just another day to celebrate, eh? Another year older, another year with the Gang!"

"Whose '_the Gang_'?" The girl sputtered out, craning her candy-caked face away from her fretting parent's rag-wielding palm.

If possible, he grinned wider, and swept his arms out, casting his hands in every direction. "Why, my buddies here in the Arcade, of course! Every character in these games is one of my buddies!"

In response, a few of the parental figures chuckled at his unbridled enthusiasm, some shaking their heads. He was just too...Litwak. Always believing the impossible.

"But they're just video games." A befuddled young boy sat across from Litwak, swirling his plastic fork through the gooey mess he'd created of the confections. "They're not _real_, Mister Litwak. It's all just, like...code, right? Video games are programmed, not born, right?"

Slowly, the old man dropped his hands to his side, smile tinged with sadness. "But that's the thing..." As if telling a secret, he pressed his fingers to the side of his mouth, creating a fan that only helped to heighten the atmosphere his words echoed.

"That's what they _want_ you to think."

* * *

To the patiently waiting inhabitants and crossers of Gane Central Station, the party felt like eternity. Hours passed, and within those hours, a certain bad-guy had thrown more bricks, broken more windows, and thrown Gene more times than he could remember.

The last time they'd been this popular was...well, the day they'd added Q-Bert and his friends into their game, via "Bonus Round". But this seemed even more so...frantic. Adults he'd never seen before were furiously crowded around the game's screen for moments at a time, ever hanging in their rotation as they all fought for a good look at the gameplay.

The kids, dare he even think it, were actually more civilized than their older counterparts. He actually shuddered at the remembrance of one man, so heartbroken by his losing, that he actually began to wail at the top of his lungs. Not a crying sort of wail, but a dramatic, sniveling sort.

Both grown-ups and kids alike had stared at the fully-grown crier in abject horror. When Ralph thought about it, all he could do was sigh. Calhoun, however, seemed to find it downright hilarious that his terror was caused by such an action, and couldn't stop laughing in his face for a good ten minutes.

Out of the group of exhausted characters, Felix was the most overworked. What had started as a chipper, energy-filled constructor was currently a limp-armed, ring-eyed, gasping young man, hardly able to relict his very telltale prop. As she supported his hung-down frame, Vanellope rolled her eyes. Her game was second in place for the highest amount of players. First was Calhoun, who even so, wasn't nearly as drawn out in energy as her husband.

"You...uh, alright there, Felix?" Ralph asked for the umpteenth time, gradually reaching out as if to provoke the fatigued handyman into some sort of action.

"Sweet mother of monkey-milk, look, if you don't get some rest soon, _and off my arm_, we're both gonna need major fixing!" Chuckling through the child's snarky remark, and the empty threat inside it (everyone knew their bodily stats would be reset overnight, no matter how hard the game was worked over), Felix attempted to lift his head, only to have it drop back down in submission to his worn figure.

"I'm...just fine, brother. Just need a little...little rest, is all." At his words, Calhoun reached out and motioned for Vanellope to pass him off to her. Happily accepting the gesture, the tuckered-out racer shrugged Felix into his wife's arms, and stretched out her own dramatically.

"_Finally! _I thought my arms were gonna fall off!"

"You were only using one arm, kid." Ralph smiled.

Vanellope smirked up at him, and waved her appendages around overzealously. "Yeah, but do you know how much energy was taken out of this arm, by trying to _hold up_ my holding-up arm? It was like the energy I used to keep that big lug off his face was halved into both arms! Now they both hurt. And I ask you, _is that fair?_ I think not!"

"Alright, alright." Though he couldn't help but cut his eyes at her theatrical show, he quickly scooped Vanellope onto his shoulder, where she proceeded to sit, suddenly growing quiet at the prospect that she wasn't going to have to walk back to her own game.

"Thanks, Stink-Brain."

"Your welcome." Tilting his head to see Calhoun's retreating figure gaining close entry to the Niceland's apartment complex, he called his leaving across the distance.

"Hey, uh, Sarge! I'm taking Vanellope back to Sugar Rush, you and Felix gonna be alright while I'm gone?"

"Don't worry 'bout me, brother!" Felix grimaced, weakly shooting the wrecker a thumbs up from his place, slung across his wife's shoulder. "I'm gonna be A-OK!"

"He'll be _fine_, Wreck-It," Calhoun replied, her voice overlapping his own echo across the yard, "I'll take good care of him 'till you get back." To affirm her words, she reached around and placed her hand on Felix's head, knocking his hat down a bit. The handyman laughed and fluffed her bangs in response, planting a warm kiss on her forehead.

"Oh, alright! Uh...I'm off, then!"

Feeling oddly out of place, the flustered bad-guy whirled around, quickly striding towards the Train cord as fast as his body would let him.

That was...oddly awkward. He'd seen Felix and Calhoun kiss before. He'd been at their wedding! But just seeing such an intimate moment between the two still felt...weird. He couldn't place it, but it was like seeing his parents kiss (not that he had any).

It was just...indescribable.

"Seriously, those two need to get a room! Oh, wait, they're going to his room...so I guess they've got one!" Vanellope's childish cackle broke Ralph free of his embarressed haze, and he glanced over, raising one eyebrow curiously as her head swiveled from stack to stack of brick buildings.

"Man, I never get tired of seeing this place! After so long of being stuck in that sugar-coated prison, it's nice to get out and smell the dirt! Like _here_-!"

"_Hey, what're you-?_"

To his surprise, the tiny girl leapt up and hugged his face, pressing her nose into the side of his spiked "do". After a moment of intense sniffing, she leaned over and smiled.

"Yep! Lotsa dirt, right here!"

"Very nice." Gently he plucked her from his shoulder, and held Vanellope in front of him, dangling the miniature racer from her hoodie. "I should drop you in the mud."

"It was just a joke, Ralph! _Jeez_-!" Huffing, she easily glitched her captive place from his hold back onto her resting spot, her position suddenly changed so that she reclined across his arm like a ramp, legs kicked up on his shoulder-blade. "You're losing you sense of humor, Ralph-my-boy!"

"Oh, yeah?" Well, you're losing-your..._something! _I don't know what it is yet, but you're losing it!"

"Very nice," as she emulated the discouraging tone he'd used with her, Vanellope shrugged her shoulders in a "Devil-may-care" sort of way, displaying how she viewed his lack of enthusiasm for her playfulness.

"Alright, I'm dropping you in the mud this time-head first!"

"Hey! Hey, I was kidding again-! Seriously, Ralph! Ralph? _RALPH!_"

* * *

_"So Litwak, it's another year you've been running that Arcade of yours...got any plans of handing it off soon?"_

"Well, no. Not that I know of. Why, is there something going on?"

_"Look, Dad."_ Even across the static-filled speaker, Litwak could hear the weariness in the talker's voice._ "You've been running that dump over thirty years. Isn't it time you, I don't know, did something with it? I've got this guy, downtown, says he's got a really good price he'll pay if you sell it off to him! Can't you just-"_

"No." The word was firm, and final. "This is my store, and I'm not about to go handing it off willy-milky to the first guy who says he'll pay more than a hundred bucks for it!"

_"Dad, it's a **lot** more than a hundred bucks, I promise! Please just-!"_

"No. It's my store. I'm not giving it up, and that's it."

The voice in the other end went silent. It took the impatiently waiting man on the other side a few minutes to realize his son had hung up on him. Slightly shocked, he placed the object back in its cradle, and slumped, head down, into the nearest chair. Litwak rolled his hands over his head, felt the missing hair, and sighed.

"Another year older..."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**First chapter. **

**Much longer than before, yes?**

**Yes.**

**Good? No? Yes?**

**Meh.**

**Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Peace out,**

**- InsaniumArtisan**


	3. Sew Weylos

**Chapter Two - Sew weylos aryu-fe nez'zolto, Wi-s tina zi-di mor ele-fi ro-eltyeir**

* * *

The moment his spark jumped to life, he knew. He knew everything. He could remember it all. His name, his life, his...death.

But it made no sense. He was erased. Deleted. Deconstructed. What was he doing, still meagerly crawling about such an undaunted existence?

There was nothing to it that called out "understandable" to his ears.

There was an odd, ticklish feeling, and all at once, his body began reappear. Eyes first. He could see around, through an invisible skull, into an environment that filled with both serenity and panic.

Hands appeared next, and reached out to experimentally touch the moss-stained stone and brick. It was real, as was he. The body was delivered, and two legs attached shortly after. He could walk now, and as his face and head began to slowly pixelate into place, he continued his way around the room.

Books, drawings, instruments. But mostly books stacked in towers so high that they nearly touched tip with the arched ceiling overhead.

There was a bed. Someone lived here. Chairs. They were highly ornate, so he figured whoever it was lived quite the life of luxury. Jealousy shot through. Old-aged envy that still swept over from a previous being.

But what did that matter now? It didn't, did it? All that mattered was his current existence.

As he pondered the thought, more and more questions crammed into his head, until it felt like an overstocked bookshelf.

Who was he? How was he here? He had an odd inkling that his being here was wrong-out of place.

But at the same time it felt..._right_.

Yes, it was right for him to exist. If not, then he wouldn't be here, would he? Nodding to himself, he moved from one spot in the room to another. Surely someone had to be here. There was a lit candle settled on the far end of a table, with an open-laid book across it.

Had someone been in a rush to leave? Or were they still here?

"Hey!" He croaked. The echo of his voice sparked a memory. A brief flash of a name.

Wreck-It Ralph.

Fix-It Felix.

Vanellope Von Schweetz.

Were any of those _his_ name? He looked down, into an abyss of pixelation and discord. Through the incoherent mix, he caught small glimpses of an outfit, red and white. He didn't look like a Wrecker, or a Fixer, or a Vanellope...whatever _that_ was. He looked more like a...

_Turbo._

The force of remembrance threatened to knock him off his feet. Only a second later did something really do so, throwing the now that he could recall it, ex-racer, onto his backside. Whatever had hit him had done well to catch him off guard, and his tiny, grey arms flew up protectively over his face to ward off the thing accosting him.

"Hey! Cut that out!"

It turned out not to be one object, but hundreds-the books, in fact, all rose from their spots to strike the place he sat. With a yelp he rolled off to the side, nearly managing to get himself beaned with a rather heavy-looking novel of some sort in the process.

"I said, '_Stop it_'!" Growling, Turbo tossed one of his flickering hands up, snapping a rectangular projectile mid-flight, and let it fall back in a near exact reversal of the arc it had come sailing his way in. The loud thump/shriek combination that followed filled him with two pieces of knowledge:

1) He was not alone in this room.

2) Whoever had been "attacking" him was either female, or had the girliest voice he'd ever heard.

"I know you're hiding!" He snapped, filling his arms with a miniature army of books, lest they try to sic the objects on him once more. "You might as well come out now, or-I'll throw these out the window, I swear I will!"

"No, please-!" A shape came hurtling towards him from the shadows, so suddenly that the flustered male ended up dropping everything he'd meant to use as leverage in an ungrateful show of shellshocked indignity.

Before the creature could reach him, however, for whatever the purpose, their foot (or what he guessed was a foot) caught on one of their own novels, and they landed sprawled facedown, in a crumpled heap of fluttering tulle, black fabric, and brown hair.

Curiously, he moved to react, snatching up another book, just as the thing in turn jolted to stare up at him through tear-peaked, widened eyes.

"No!" The girl squeaked, struggling to lift herself, "Please don't throw-my books out!" Between words she had slipped back down, head buried in her arms.

"_Pleasepleaseplease_..."

Turbo reeled back a bit, completely disgusted by this lack of fight. Did she really think he would do it?

Well, he would-under _different_ circumstances. But this girl, this _child_...!

No. She was nowhere near a child. This young woman acted as of she had no self-esteem, and was lying so sullenly, as if she'd given up the very notion of resistance.

Sputtering, he dropped the thing onto her head, ignoring the sharp yelp she uttered at the pain. "Get up. I'm not going to throw out your stupid books."

"You-you aren't?" She sniffled softly, and he shuddered.

She was a princess wasn't she? All the princesses he knew-remembered, acted like this. Weak, servile, and whiny.

It was repulsive.

"No." He spat, "Why were you attacking me?"

"You...appeared in my tower." She responded softly, finally gaining a bit of confidence as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Even with his short , her face still measured to his line of sight, though he had to look up a bit.

She was a bit tall for a princess.

"_So?_ Do you attack everyone who comes into your tower?"

The girl held up her hands in surrender, shaking harshly. "N-no! I swear, I was surprised! I...mean...my tower, that is..."

"What?" Turbo found his irritation growing the longer he watched her. Women were insufferable enough, and girls like her only made things worse.

"My tower is...," she trailed off, looking away. Even through his anger, he couldn't help but notice that her eyes cast an eerie blue glow, before sliding back into the same crimson red he'd first seen them reflect. She was some weird princess. Maybe a vampire?

Too long had passed before he was drawn to the end of his rope, and he stepped forward, grasping the girl's collar threateningly.

"Look, you better start talking, or else I swear I'm gonna-"

What was he going to do? He was powerless. No longer a king. That was...Vanellope's title. Vanellope Von Schweetz. Princess of Sugar Rush.

_His_ game.

The realization of his situation, the past, present, and even glimpses of a possible future brushed their way through his plethora of questions, slicing them to inconceivable answers. He was...supposed to be dead.

Dead. _Him_. Turbo. He was dead. Wasn't he?

Was this some sort of Heaven for game characters? Some sort of...life after code?

"What _are_ you?" He snarled, relaxing the grip he hadn't known had grown so tightly. The woman he was questioning had gone pale, staring at him with a fear he recognized all-too much.

"I-I-," it seemed as if she was going to speak, but without warning, she froze, "No time. There's no time for that right now."

"Why not?" His fists glitched, though he didn't notice, momentarily twisting into a whirlwind of tiny sparks before they settled back into a whole.

"Quarter alert. It's coming, soon." The unmistakable change in her personality made his hair stand on end. Soft and gentle washed into a cold riptide, searing away all detestation into an unthinkable sensation of chilled consternation.

She'd said '_Quarter alert_'. So that meant he wasn't dead. He was still in the Arcade. But not...in Turbo-Time, or Sugar Rush. He was somewhere new.

Somewhere deep inside, greed stirred for control.

Could this game become his as well?

If there was even the slightest chance of it, and he knew there was, then it would come to be. Soon enough.

It would all be his, and then he would have his answers. He would have _everything_.

But of course, there still was one thing...

"Hey."

She stopped, not turning to meet his questioning, inquisitive glare. "Who are you?"

"...You already asked. But the question is not '_Who_'."

For a brief, slight moment, the cruel, devilish gaze of a predator glimpsed over a moon white shoulder.

"It is, indeed, '_What_.'"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Can I stop BSing things?**

**I can't? **

**Damn. Axe is psycho. **

**Oh, well. Till next time.**

**- I.A.**


End file.
